And the Lion Shall Lie Down With the Snake?
by Galatyn Renner
Summary: Voldemort is on the rise and Hermione gets an unexpected letter in her last year at Hogwarts. The reunion chapter is up!
1. February 17, Year Seven

And the Lion Shall Lie Down With the . . . Snake?  
  
A Draco/Hermione fan fiction  
  
By Galatyn Renner  
  
Seventeen-year-old Hermione Granger hunched over her worn copy of Advanced Transfiguration in the Hogwarts library. Though it was only February, she was already studying for the exit exams. Because only the very highest scores were even considered for the Auror training program. And because she needed the work to keep her alive.  
  
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she started up. "Madam Pince, I'll be done in just--"  
  
"Shh." The same hand pushed her back into his seat. "A dragon sends his love." Hermione whirled. One of the Slytherin prefects stood behind her, holding a sealed parchment. She couldn't put a name to the knife-edge face and dark hair, but she was grateful.  
  
"Can you sit down?"  
  
His eyes flicked around the empty stacks. "A moment only." He pulled out the chair beside Hermione and held out the parchment.  
  
She accepted it. "Have you seen him?"  
  
"Not since September. He was fine. Sadder. Thinner. This came by Hogsmeade owl last night. I couldn't get it to you sooner."  
  
"Why didn't it come directly to me?"  
  
"It was inside another parchment. He thinks Lucius is watching his mail."  
  
"He's probably right. Can you keep Pansy Parkinson off me? I can't move without her popping up. She only left about an hour ago."  
  
"I'll see what I can do." He stood up.  
  
Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "Thank you." She hazarded a guess, "Blaine."  
  
He gave Hermione a thin smile. "Blaise." Leaning down, he brushed her cheek lightly with his lips. "From Draco," He whispered in her ear.  
  
Hermoine resisted watching him leave. She knew Blaise was risking his life to get her the letter. She shoved the parchment into the bottom of her book bag. The library was too public a place to open it.  
  
She packed up the rest of her things and tryed to appear calm. Hermione nodded to Madam Pince, who was nodding, and walked slowly out of the library.  
  
Her feet found the way up to Gryffindor tower instinctively, because Hermione's mind was far away. It was in the snow at Durmstrang with Draco Malfoy.  
  
  
  
Author's Note: JKR, hers, not mine.  
  
I need some major feedback on this chapter. Did you understand what was going on? Any questions? I'm going to alternate chapters with explanatory flashbacks, so 'I' won't get too lost. The story formerly known as "It Only Takes One Night" will comprise one. This may take me some time to complete, as I can only type on the weekends and I have tons of homework. Bear with me. I love reviews and they make me work faster! G. R. 


	2. December 8, Year Five

"Detention with Malfoy, Hermione! What did you do?" Harry said with astonishment. He had been in the infirmary due to a nasty accident involving himself, Neville, and a cauldron of Solidifying Solution during Potions and had only just caught up with his friends after Charms, the class they had between Potions and Transfiguration. They were headed to Professor McGonagall's classroom, but Harry hardly noticed where he was going due to Ron's nonstop narrative about the events he had missed. Hermione was talking as well, mostly correcting Ron and telling Harry how it really hadn't been her fault and. . . .  
  
"And so I have detention with that git," Hermione finished, pointing her chin at Malfoy, who was walking ahead of them. He was snickering about something with Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
"All right, let me get this straight." Harry put up his hands to stop Ron and Hermione from talking both at once. He'd had quite enough of that already.  
  
"Okay, Hermoine: what did you turn Malfoy into again."  
  
"Professor Flitwick asked me to demonstrate the Platyform Charm. And I did. On Malfoy."  
  
"It was cool. He kind of oozed out all over the floor. It was better than anything Fred and George have ever done to him." Ron sounded impressed.  
  
"Really, Harry he'd been being awful to Neville since he spilled that stuff on you, I just wanted to get him back."  
  
"Yeah, and when Flitwick turned him back, Malfoy did the same thing to Hermione and she oozed all over the floor. I think I got some of you on my robes, Herm." Ron brushed at his sleeve.  
  
"It was a rather interesting feeling, actually. Professor Flitwick turned me back and said he didn't appreciate students liquidating in his classroom and he gave Malfoy and me detention."  
  
"To be served tonight," Ron added, imitating Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice. "Together."  
  
"It's supposed to teach us to get along," Hermione huffed.  
  
"When Neville plays Quidditch for England," Harry said under his breath. 


	3. December 8, Year Five

Draco Malfoy was not at lunch that day. Professor Snape had asked -- ordered - Draco to see him in his office during that time.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I am extremely disappointed in you. Two weeks from the Christmas holidays and you've got detention. Explain yourself."  
  
"I'd rather not talk about it, sir. You can ask Professor Flitwick."  
  
"I have already spoken with Professor Flitwick. The way you conducted yourself was. . . unbecoming of both a Slytherin and a Malfoy. Your father will not be pleased."  
  
"But she turned me into goo, Professor!" Draco did his best to sound indignant.  
  
"That is beside the point, Mr. Malfoy. The fact is that you felt the need to perform the charm on her, instead of retaliating in a more. . . discreet manner, as becomes a Slytherin."  
  
"You're right, sir. It won't happen again."  
  
"Indeed. You may go." Draco left hurriedly, torn between sorrow that he had disappointed his favorite teacher and elation at the prospect of being alone with Hermione. 


	4. December 8, Year Five

"Just stay away from me, Malfoy, and clean your half." Hermione and Draco had been assigned by a gleeful Argus Filch to clean up Neville's mess in the dungeons. Hermione was angry at the fact that she was missing so much after-dinner study time and at simply being in the same room with 'Malfoy', who wasn't trying to do anything but contain his happiness.  
  
"Give me a rag, will you?" He had the good sense to duck before a rag, thrown by Hermione and dripping with Dissolving Decoction, hit him in the face. "Thank you," Draco muttered under his breath.  
  
They scrubbed in silence for a moment. "Look, Hermione --" Draco began.  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy." She cut him off.  
  
He tried again. "Hermione, listen. Please?"  
  
Hermione stared at him. "Do my ears deceive me, or did Draco Malfoy just say 'please' to a Mudblood?"  
  
"Hermione, I'm sorry that I ever called you that."  
  
"I don't want to hear it, Malfoy." She wasn't listening to his attempts at apology.  
  
"Call me Draco, would you?"  
  
It had finally occurred to Hermione that the words she was trying to block weren't exactly caustic. "What?"  
  
"My name is Draco." He was sincerely wishing that he didn't have a surname right then.  
  
"All right, 'Draco'. Go on. You were apologizing," she added helpfully.  
  
"I'm sorry about today, but I wanted to speak with you, alone, and this seemed like the only way."  
  
"You could have asked, you know."  
  
"You would have ignored me, and besides, I have an image to maintain."  
  
"Why you conceited--"  
  
"Wrong choice of words. But I'm no Gryffindor; I'm not going to shout my feelings from the Astronomy Tower. I refuse to lay out my choices and let people pick them over like blueberries." Draco sat down on one of the desks. He had not realized he was pacing. "I've said too much. But I will not drag you into the hell of my life, at least not against your will."  
  
Hermione had her head down, lips pursed, thinking very hard about Draco's almost-tirade. He mistook her response. "I didn't mean to malign your House. The Sorting Hat wanted to put 'me' in Ravenclaw."  
  
"So why'd you say Slytherin?" Hermione thought she knew, but it seemed a subject change she could get away with.  
  
Draco bit his lip, sticking on the easiest answer to the hardest question. "I'm a Malfoy. We've always been in Slytherin."  
  
"Ravenclaw," Hermione mused, "That's where it wanted to put me."  
  
Half mimicking, half earnest, Draco asked, "So why'd you say Gryffindor?"  
  
"It seemed by far the best." Hermione looked more than a little wistful. "I was such a little goose."  
  
"And I was such a stuck-up little prig, " Draco said, before his pride could kick in, and decided to continue with the exegesis of many, many nights that he had been too cold or too sore to sleep. "That's what started it all. I couldn't see the evil I'd been steeped in."  
  
"And you have now?" Traces of Granger skepticism still clung to Hermione's tone.  
  
Draco looked annoyed. "I haven't insulted you for the last hour and a half. We're having a 'conversation.' I'm vocalizing things I've never even thought about before. Aren't you the least bit suspicious?"  
  
Hermione crossed to the desk beside Draco. "Possibly. Go on."  
  
"I can't justify habitually tormenting you. I would like to apologize. In my family, that's customarily done by sending the person the right hand of their worst enemy. I need a name," Draco looked at her for an answer, dead serious.  
  
"Draco Malfoy," Hermione said quietly without any malice. She didn't really believe him.  
  
Draco held his hand out in front of him, trying to look at it objectively. He examined the pale skin and the blood vessels that stood starkly blue against it. The fingers were long and fine, with only a small wand callous to mar the middle one. They ended in manicured nails that he had never dared to bite. But it was the long scar, crossing the back, that made him decide. "Ah, well, I've never liked it, anyway." Draco raised the wand awkwardly in his left hand, pointing it at his wrist. "Sev-"  
  
Hermione grabbed his hand. "Stop that!" She noticed the scar too and drew his hand closer to look. Draco stood up. "What happened?"  
  
Draco swallowed, forcing bile back down his throat. "An accident. When I was little." The falsehood slipped through gritted teeth and he hated himself for it.  
  
Hermione looked up, meeting his eyes. "You're lying, "she said quietly, "about that and perhaps about the rest." Draco opened his mouth to protest and then shut it quickly. "You have never said a kind word to me in the four and a half years I have had the misfortune to know you. You cannot atone for that by merely cutting off your own hand."  
  
Draco bowed his head. "I know. It's too easy."  
  
"Bloody right, it's too easy. Four and a half years, remember?" A very vindictive glint had entered Hermione's eyes.  
  
Draco would have sunk to his knees, but for the iron grip on his palm. He swallowed, his mouth like parchment. His father had never scared him like this. "What are you going to- "  
  
"I'm not going to do anything," Hermione said, very, very low. "It's what you're going to do." If she had stopped to think about what she was saying, she would have scared herself. "You're going to apologize, verbally and sincerely, to Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter. Without lifting a finger in your own defense."  
  
"And what if I do?" Draco had got some of his Slytherin bravado back.  
  
"Then," Hermione said, kissing the palm of his hand, "you and I start over with a fresh slate. No surnames, no history. Is it worth your time and trouble? Your precious pride?"  
  
Draco nodded wryly. "You would have made an excellent Slytherin, Hermione Granger." She dropped his hand and he flinched, locking his jaw against the expected slap.  
  
It didn't come. "And you'd make an excellent human, Draco Malfoy, if you can ever get over yourself." Hermione turned away from him. "We have a classroom to clean." They got to work, neither looking at the other. When Filch came and packed them both off to their respective dorms, they went quietly, each with too much for a fifteen-year-old to think about.  
  
  
  
  
  
Comments? Questions? Is Hermione too tough/OOC? Is Draco too fluffy/OOC? How do you think his hand got scarred?  
  
OOC: out of character 


	5. February 17, Year Seven

Hermione whispered the requisite seven passwords that undid the locking spells to her bedroom. One of the few benefits of being a Hogwarts prefect was a room to herself. She stepped in, rearming the locks and throwing the bolt. "'Lumos'" Hermione's wand lit and she gave the room a cursory search. Undressing quickly, she climbed into bed, retrieving the letter from her bag. 

Upon breaking the seal, the letter appeared to read that Alastor Le Grange had won the sweepstakes. Hermione smiled. She kissed the parchment, whispering, "Draco Dormiens." The ink shimmered and blurred, condensing into the precise, slicing script Hermione knew so well.   


My Dearest Hermione,   
This should be a love letter. It is not. Forgive me, please. The thought of you sustains me through every hour of every day. Merlin knows I need it.   
You must stay safe. If they raid Hogwarts (later, rather than sooner, I think) they will be after you and Potter. Durmstrang is getting restless and everyone is desperate to prove themselves.   
Lucius has given you his undivided attention. It would not be advisable for you to go home for the holidays. Your parents are safe, as am I, if only through ties of blood and Galleons.   
The Slytherin fire is lighting both causes. Very few at Durmstrang are undecided now. I imagine it is the same at Hogwarts. If I can get another letter through, it will be along the path this one came. Perhaps through Sebastian or Claris. Snape is too closely watched. You can trust him with your life, though. And mine.   
Bill and Charlie Weasley are still alive, but barely. Give Ron my apologies and condolences, if he will accept them, this time. Beauxbatons remains neutral.   
I do not know when I will get back to Hogwarts, or whether it will be in a mask or not. Keep your fire burning and be prepared for anything. Always remember, I love you, and if you call for me, I will come, though hell should bar the way,   
D. X.   


Hermione sat back, a bit dazed. She could almost hear Draco speaking the words, his voice soft and low and very urgent. 

Dumbledore was already protecting Harry: he no longer played Quidditch and never went anywhere without a phalanx of Gryffindors. But Hermione knew as well as the Headmaster that Hogwarts was both the safest and most dangerous place for the Boy Who Lived. It had turned into a school for Aurors, but not everyone was as opposed to Voldemort as they professed. 

Draco Malfoy offering Ron Weasley apologies and condolences. Something one didn't see every day, but not uncalled for; the Weasley family had felt untold grief and pressure in the last year. Bill and Charlie had been presumed missing in action. Percy was working twelve-hour days as the youngest ever Junior Minister of Magical Law Enforcement. Fred had been killed in the field as an Auror and George, a shadow of the fun-loving mischief-maker she had known, was teaching Charms at Hogwarts after the demise of Professor Flitwick. Ron was working harder than she had ever seen him at his schoolwork after begging to be allowed to finish his last year in England when Ginny was sent to Beauxbatons. He rarely spoke to Hermione, having not yet forgiven her for the fiasco last year. In that he had the company of half of Hogwarts.   
  
  
  



	6. February 17, Year Seven

So Snape was trustworthy, was he? A revelation, but hardly a startling one. More of a confirmation, really. In the three years since Voldemort's return, Severus Snape had changed. He was often absent, returning drained of malice and almost of personality. The academics of his classes had not faltered, though, a fact for which Hermione was grateful. Her grades in Potions, already high, went up, due in part to the fact that the instructor no longer responded to her queries with spiteful indifference.  
  
Many of the Slytherins were gone; this was Snape's doing, as well. If Harry Potter gave the good guys hope and Albus Dumbledore gave them strength, Severus Snape kept them pure. He could have called his autobiography 'The Death Eater Who Stayed Out In The Cold'.  
  
Hermione got out of bed and back into her robes. Adding jeans and the crepe- soled dragon-hide boots Draco had given her, she padded out of Gryffindor Tower through a passage that only led on odd-numbered days to the dungeons. Draco had shown her the way around and she knew where Snape would be, even at ten at night.  
  
Hermione knocked on a door that wasn't there and received a "Come" that was more tired than irritable. The stone disappeared, revealing the Head of Slytherin at a desk, grading papers.  
  
He looked up. "Miss Granger, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?" Some things never change.  
  
"I'm sorry to bother you so late, Professor, but there's something you need to see." She stepped forward and laid Draco's parchment on his desk. "I've had a letter from Durmstrang."  
  
Snape's eyes roved over the paper for a long moment and then flicked back to Hermione. "How did you get this?"  
  
"Love finds a way, Professor."  
  
"Indeed. More importantly, can you get another back the same way?"  
  
"I doubt it, sir."  
  
"You might try Mr. Potter's owl. It seems to have a remarkable talent for getting where it is not wanted. Much like its owner." Hedwig had become something of a Hogwarts legend in the past two years.  
  
"I'll keep that in mind, sir."  
  
"I will see that this gets to the Headmaster." Snape stood and handed Hermione back the letter. She turned to go. "Hermione." She spun. "When this is over, and it will end, I would like an invitation to the wedding."  
  
She threw her arms around his neck. "You're in the front row, sir." Hermione left before she could do anything else mutually embarrassing. 


	7. December 8, Year Five

Draco Malfoy stared up at the canopy of his four-poster. He was cold. Inordinately cold. Draco had, however, heard Nott complaining about the 'heat' as he was coming in, so he resisted casting 'another' Warming Charm on the dorm room.  
  
It wasn't the cold keeping him awake. Draco was used to sleeping in the soul-numbing temperatures of Malfoy Manor, where it was not unusual for him to wake with tears frozen on his cheeks. Instead, Draco's insomnia was caused by a Mudblood Gryffindor whom he was simultaneously blessing and cursing.  
  
Hermione Granger had been the object of his affections for the past year and a half. Not that his conduct had betrayed it, of course.  
  
And now she was going to make him apologize to arguably his three least favorite people: Potter, Weasley, and, Longbottom.  
  
If Hermione had been trying to punish him, she could not have done more damage with the Cruciatus Curse, at least to his pride. And if she hadn't, well, Draco was doing a fairly good job of punishing himself: he was lying in the dark, composing apologies. At least she hadn't said 'publicly', but 'verbally' and 'sincerely' were bad enough.  
  
They would laugh at him, Draco knew. He could not stand being laughed at, whether it was his father's low sneer or the collective ha-ha's of Hogwarts. He was sure it would be the latter.  
  
Sighing, he swung his feet onto the cold stone floor and padded over to the canopy bed opposite his, where, despite the best attempts of its occupant, wand light was shining through the cloth.  
  
Draco insinuated himself through the curtains and caught Blaise Zabini curled up with the latest edition of 'Hogwarts, A History'. He looked up and gave Draco a small smile.  
  
"Can't sleep?" Draco sat down on the side of the bed, pushing a strand of hair out of his eyes.  
  
Blaise closed his book. "No. Besides, Nott said he'd gag me if I screamed through one more night."  
  
Draco privately resolved to have a talk with the inconsiderate Nott, but he knew Blaise hated pity, so he continued with his original purpose. "Is Lilith--?"  
  
Blaise shifted under the bedclothes and a fluffy white head popped up from behind him. The Persian cat untangled herself fastidiously and padded over to Draco, who gathered her up in his arms. "She came to keep me company, probably got tired of waiting for you."  
  
"Yeah." Draco lay back across the foot of the bed, burying his face in his cat.  
  
Blaise pushed the better part of the coverlet over Draco's feet, as they were looking a bit blue. "How was detention?"  
  
"As well as can be expected under the present circumstances, thank you," Draco said wryly as Lilith jumped off of his head.  
  
"Sorry. What took so long?"  
  
"The usual. Filch was being a pain in the bum."  
  
Blaise laughed and made Lilith a nest in the covers. "So no more Platyform Charms?"  
  
"Yeah." Draco scooped up his cat and reached into his dressing robe pocket with his free hand. He handed a small vial to Blaise. "For dreamless sleep."  
  
The look in his soft green eyes made Draco forget the cold completely. Blaise hugged him awkwardly, one-armed around the head, and Draco tiptoed back to his bed. Once there, he rearranged the pillows, fluffing one up for Lilith and, stuffing two under his own head, he lay down to think.  
  
Blaise had nightmares, blindingly vivid dreams about things he could only tell Draco in breathless, halting fragments. They had started at the beginning of the boys' third year, when Dementors had stopped the Hogwarts' Express and searched each compartment for Sirius Black.  
  
Draco had relived awful memories that day, but Blaise's had stayed with him: two or three nights a week he would wake, screaming his throat raw into the darkness.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle usually slept through it. Nott, a half-blood who had no idea what the matter was with his roommate, would roll over, tell Blaise to shut up, and go back to sleep.  
  
Draco always got up, not quite knowing why, to do everything from hold Blaise's head while he retched to sit with him as he cried. Blaise was one of his few real friends and Draco didn't care that his father was in Azkaban or that he lived with Muggles because his mother, Voldemort's former third in command, had disappeared after he was born.  
  
When they had done Dreamless Sleep in Potions a week before, Draco had contrived to retrieve quite a lot of it, with Blaise in mind. He felt very much like taking a vial himself, right now.  
  
  
  
Hermione Granger lay in the warm darkness of Gryffindor Tower, wondering if Draco would really make peace and thinking that if he was going to, she should have added Hagrid to the list.  
  
Her last thought before sleep was that Draco Malfoy had very eerie silver eyes. 


	8. December 9, Year Five

The next morning, Draco Malfoy's eagle owl swooped, not to the Slytherin table with sweets from home, but to the Gryffindor table with a letter. It dropped the parchment on top of Harry Potter's french toast and glided off. 

Ron leaned over as Harry wiped the syrup off. "It's not a Howler. Why would Malfoy be sending you ordinary mail?" 

Harry cracked the green wax seal. The letter read simply: 

Potter,   
I want a word with you. Alone. Name the time and place and, you have my word, I will come unarmed.   
Draconis   
V L X N   
de Malfoy 

After reading it quickly, Harry frowned. But Ron was trying to lean past Hermione to see what the parchment said, so he took the quill Hermione thoughtfully provided and scribbled the first thing that came into his head, which happened to be: Quidditch Pitch, tomorrow, nine AM. 

Hermione had read Draco's query. "He actually did it," she whispered. 

Harry thought she was talking about him, instead of Draco. He melted the seal back with the tip of his wand and tossed the letter up into the air. Half of the Gryffindor table ducked as Malfoy's owl came plummeting down, snatched the paper up in his beak, and soared back to the Slytherin table. 

Draco leapt up on his chair and, holding his forearm out like a falconer, let the owl land on it. He took the parchment and inclined his head to Harry before stepping down. 

"What the--" "Ron!" "was that all about?" 

"Malfoy wanted a word," Harry said nonchalantly. "If he tries anything funny, it'll be a good place to practice my Patronus." 

Ron laughed as Hermione looked daggers at him and muttered. "Your time will come."   
  
  


This chapter is for Akira Gown and Queen Li, who reviewed their hearts out. If there's something you want to see in the fic, guys, you got it. Looong chapter next time.   



	9. December 10, Year Five

The day after the owl incident, which happened to be a Saturday, dawned gray-white and damp. Draco trudged up to the Quidditch Pitch at half past eight. Well, perhaps not trudged, because he 'was' a Malfoy and had boots on, but certainly he walked very slowly.  
  
Harry arrived at nine on his Firebolt, with his wand down his shirt. He found Draco standing under an oak tree, arms folded across his chest. "What did you want, then?" the Gryffindor said, without preamble.  
  
"A word with you, Potter." Draco's tone was carefully neutral.  
  
"You've had five. I meant anything important." Harry pushed his dripping bangs out of his eyes and looked around warily.  
  
"First off, stop that. The rest of the Slytherin team is not lying in wait to carry you off, in a vain attempt to win the next match."  
  
Harry almost-smirked. "'Vain'? Are you saying we're unbeatable?"  
  
"No, simply that I cannot fly my best without a worthy opponent." This was possibly the weakest excuse Draco had ever given; absolutely pitiful for someone who had been dodging questions since he was seven.  
  
"I didn't think anyone was worthy of a Malfoy."  
  
"Very few. You have that dubious honor." Draco circled him slowly. "Pureblood. Good student. Better Quidditch player. Brilliant Seeker. I've seldom seen your equal, professional or no."  
  
Harry would have flushed with pride had the remark come from anyone else. From Malfoy, however, it only made him nervous. "But you're still better, of course?"  
  
'Without lifting a finger in your own defense.' "No."  
  
Harry could have been knocked over with a Snitch. "You're admitting I'm better than you are?"  
  
"Yes." Draco's neutral tone turned icily civil.  
  
"Can I have that in writing?"  
  
"You're not going to make this easy, are you, Potter?" Draco decided he had better speed things up. "You've changed. I mean, you snuff Diggory and suddenly--"  
  
Draco was 'suddenly' on his back in the mud. Harry had lived up to his reputation for descisive speed and had tackled him. He knelt above Draco, knee on his chest and wand at his throat. "Take it back," Harry hissed through clenched teeth. "Take it back, you slimy little git."  
  
Draco coughed shortly, unable to speak: Harry had knocked the wind out of him. After a moment, he realized this and got off of Draco, who sat up. Harry sat beside him, wand still drawn.  
  
When he was not at all sufficiently recovered, Draco rasped, "I take it back."  
  
"What?" Harry leaned down; he thought he hadn't heard properly the first time.  
  
Draco grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him down until their noses nearly touched. "I said, 'I take it back.' I know Voldemort killed Diggory, not you. And while I'm at it, I 'take back' every mean, unkind, or rude thing I have said or done to you since that day in Madam Malkin's when we were eleven." Draco let go of Harry and slumped back in the mud.  
  
Harry stared at him, very much resembling a carp. "Could you, uh, say that again?"  
  
"No," Draco said shortly. "You heard me, Potter. Now are you going to accept, or shall we do this over again?" Silver eyes locked on green for a long moment. Draco raised one eyebrow.  
  
"Okay," Harry agreed, "on one condition."  
  
"No conditions. I've had enough conditions in the last two days to--"  
  
"Half a sec." Harry remembered. "You're apologizing to 'me', for some strange reason. And for an equally strange reason, 'you' want 'me' to accept. You don't make the rules here, Malfoy." Harry began to enjoy his bit of power.  
  
"Fine. What?"  
  
"Be nicer to Hermione. She takes the name calling harder than I do."  
  
Miracle of miracles. "Hermione and I have already . . . settled up." 'And make of that,' Draco thought, 'what you will.' But what if Potter fancied her?  
  
Harry snorted. "So Ron's next, then?"  
  
Draco became acutely aware that he was lying in the mud. "Yes, Potter, Weasel's next. Stick around to revive me after, would you?"  
  
"Yeah." Harry had gone beyond disbelief and his brain was gradually accepting the new Malfoy. Not knowing what else to do, he offered Draco a hand up.  
  
Draco took it, getting his feet under him and letting go. He watched Harry mount the Firebolt and fly off, brushing dripping blond hair out of his eyes. "That went," he said aloud, "astonishingly well. One down, two to go."  
  
"You really did it." Hermione Granger stepped out from behind a wide elm nearby.  
  
Draco ignored the comment. "I have never done anything so humiliating in my entire life. But it can't have been enough," he said sarcastically, "I forgot to fall on my knees and beg his forgiveness."  
  
"Malfoy." There went the first name basis.  
  
"What?" There went Draco's deep-seated control.  
  
"Shut up. It's good for you."  
  
Draco stared at her retreating form, resisting the urge to knock his head against the tree. Even sopping wet, Hermione Granger was absolutely gorgeous. No wonder Potter fancied her.  
  
Draco Malfoy stalked into the Slytherin common room, attracting stares and whispers with his rain-soaked state. Once inside his dorm room, he started shedding clothes and water on his way to the showers.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle looked up from their game of Exploding Snap and, seeing the murderous look in Draco's eyes, did not say anything.  
  
Nott was less wise. "Who hit you with an Hydratis Charm, Malfoy?" he drawled.  
  
"Shut up," Draco snapped. "You may not have noticed, but it's raining out. Water." He was down to just his trousers now and Blaise, who had stopped mid-sentence in his Divination homework, could see that Draco was shivering. Blaise caught his eye, worried and questioning. "Blaise, I--"  
  
"Bath now. Answers later." Draco found himself shoved purposefully toward the bathroom by the brother he never had.  
  
Harry Potter, Hogwarts' Golden Boy, dripped through the Gryffindor common room, Firebolt in hand. The few people who noticed him assumed he had been out for some extra Quidditch practice and turned back to the fire. 


	10. February 18, Year Seven

Somehow Hermione managed to sleep that night, wake up on time, and get through classes. She took notes automatically, although she probably could have taught the classes herself.  
  
Skipping dinner in favor of tea in her room, Hermione got her Arithmancy essay out of the way and had settled into 'Mental Defenses Against the Imperius Curse' by Don T. Duit, when someone tapped on her door.  
  
Death Eaters do not usually knock first, but Hermione believed in being prepared. She drew her wand and selected a phial of Exploding Extract from the shelf. "Come in."  
  
The door eased open and a tousled red head peered through the crack. "Stay back, Harry: she's armed!"  
  
Hermione crossed the distance to the door in two steps and threw it open. "George?"  
  
"The same. We've been sent, as Gryffindor delegates, to retrieve the missing witch." George Weasley had gotten noticeably thinner and the merry gleam in his eyes had been replaced by a haunted one, but old habits die hard.  
  
"They want you in the library, 'Mione." Still skinny with messy hair, Harry Potter remained a Hogwarts constant, although the dark circles under his eyes were no longer covered by glasses.  
  
"Why?" Hermione hated being caught out.  
  
George sighed and snaked an arm around her shoulder. "It's Thursday night, woman. We can't start without our founder."  
  
Oh. Oh! "Yes, you can. Said founder has loads of homework to do."  
  
"Do something besides homework, once in a while, Hermione," Harry put in. "Have some fun."  
  
"If you call plotting to overthrow Voldemort 'fun'," George said darkly. "But I'm forgetting myself; you've already done it once."  
  
The two boys finally got Hermione down to the library where, at the largest round table, the self-titled Council of Hogwarts was gathered. 


	11. February 18, Year Seven

Founded only four months previously, it had been one of Hermione's larger and more successful attempts to cope with Draco in absentia. She had presented the idea to the Headmaster as a sort of inter-House study group. Hermione felt he had seen past this, but Dumbledore had agreed to extending library and curfew hours on Thursday nights.  
  
Study group it was not, although study they did. Composed of mostly sixth- and seventh-years, the Council was more of a combination Toastmasters and magical discussion group. The ten members were of varied temperaments and magical persuasions, but Hermione had found kindred spirits in them all. After all, they had a common desire: For good to triumph and Hogwarts to be preserved.  
  
Hermione took her seat in one of the four empty ones. "Where's Ben?" Ben Macgregor, a sixth-year Hufflepuff, had been one of the group's charter members. A Tolkien fanatic, he had been begrudgingly allowed to name it.  
  
"Detention," George said sweetly, as half of the table glared at him. "What? Somebody had to check the anti-Apparation barrier. Ow!" It was George's turn to glare: at the doe-eyed blonde beside him.  
  
Hermione sighed, aware that this would not be one of their more productive meetings. "Fi, stop kicking George." Fiona Warbeck, in addition to being a witch at Arithmancy, had inherited her famous mother's charms. She also fancied Ben. "We have work to do."  
  
"I now call the sixteenth meeting of the Coun-"  
  
"Lay off, Geoff. That's Hermione's job."  
  
"'You' lay off, Sue. I wrote the bylaws."  
  
"And a very good job you did, too." Hermione let Harry continue; he could usually restore order by reputation. "New business? Reports from the front? Have you heard from your brother, Terry?"  
  
Although normally quite merry for a Ravenclaw, Terry Boot now shook his head soberly. "No, but his wand's still in one piece, or the Ministry would have contacted us." Laurence Boot, twenty and an Auror, had been MIA for over a month.  
  
On the opposite end of the table from Terry, Susan Bones raised her hand. Harry caught her eye and gave a tired smile. In the year since Cho Chang had left Hogwarts, Susan and he had become great friends. They were in the same boat, really: her entire family had been killed by Death Eaters only two months before the Potters. Ten-month-old Susan had been bundled into a closet by her mother and had survived, only to be packed off to Muggle relations.  
  
"Susan?"  
  
She stood up. "It has occurred to me that we have one very distinct advantage over Voldemort." No one at the table flinched. Ron Weasely, not doing his homework two tables away, did. "An advantage that he would never consider using: Mug- nonmagic technology. Certainly it can't be used inside Hogwarts, but we can work on that. And what about outside Hogwarts? Voldemort can intercept owls, but can he intercept e-mail?" Susan sat down pinkly.  
  
"Why on earth didn't we think of this before?" Hermione wondered aloud.  
  
"Because we were merely thinking, not observing," George muttered. "I think it's ruddy brilliant; Dad'll have a fit."  
  
"Even it does nothing more than keep us in touch after Hogwarts. Mind you, though," Claris McClellan, in Slytherin and from a pureblood family almost as old as the Malfoys, blushed, "someone will have to teach me how it's done."  
  
"Not e-mail, so much," Susan felt her example had rather backfired, "but certainly everyone needs to pay more attention in Muggle Studies."  
  
"All right, assignments." Hermione leant forward. "Research one Muggle invention that could prove useful against Voldemort and be ready to report on it at the next meeting." She would have said more, but George raised a finger.  
  
"'Mione, we're already ten minutes over. Madam Pince is going to kill you."  
  
Hermione spared the clock a glance. "Good heavens, yes. Anything else, very quickly?"  
  
George again. "Who needs books from the Restricted Section?" Susan, Terry, Geoffery, Fiona, and Harry raised their hands. "I said 'needs', Geoff, not 'wants to hex their dorm mates with.'" He scrawled his signature on five scraps of paper while the rest of the members packed up.  
  
Hermione walked around to Harry. "How's my Head Boy?"  
  
"I'm okay." He brushed still perpetually messy hair out of his eyes.  
  
"Is Ron still . . . ?"  
  
"Yeah." Ron was packing up his books, but that wasn't what she meant.  
  
"They won't let me near you, Harry. Ron or Neville or Dean or any of them. It's like I'm not safe anymore."  
  
Before he could answer, Ron appeared at his shoulder and said in a loud voice, "Why don't we go, Harry." He ignored Hermione. Ron, now easily two meters, could look over her without difficulty, as Hermione had always been short of his shoulder.  
  
"Hallo, Ron." Hermione met his eyes, wondering what she had ever seen in their chocolate depths.  
  
"Hello, Hermione." She wondered if she should tell him how much like Percy he sounded. Three years ago, she might have, but Draco and all he entailed had replaced some of Hermione's Gryffindor fire with Slytherin tact.  
  
"Ron," she said firmly, "this cannot continue. I still consider you my friend, even if you don't feel the same way. Now we're all sane mature adults here and--"  
  
"Yeah, 'Mione. When you look me in the eye and say you don't miss Draco Malfoy."  
  
Hermione refused to let the flood of tears fall. "Ron, I will not-cannot do that. Because it's not right. And it's not true."  
  
"Ron," Harry warned.  
  
"Oy, Ron!" George, at a volume Madam Pince must have been wincing at. Ron turned, directly into his brother's almost friendly headlock.  
  
"Gerroffme, George." Ron struggled out of habit, although George was now much shorter.  
  
"When you apologize to the nice witch, Ronald."  
  
Ron suddenly remembered that George 'was' a teacher and 'could' take points off him. "Sorry, 'Mione," he muttered. George released him and, grabbing his book bag, Ron hurried out of the library.  
  
"You didn't help anything, George," Hermione said gently.  
  
"That's Professor Weasely to you." George's voice sounded oddly hoarse as he shouldered his own bag and followed his brother's trajectory.  
  
Hermione sat at the now vacant table, put her head down in folded arms, and began to cry softly. 'I don't cry,' she thought.  
  
It was true. She had not cried when Lucius Malfoy found out exactly what stood between her and his son, or when her House deserted her, or when she found that Draco had gone, without even saying goodbye. But now Hermione wept, without quite knowing why. 'What have we given up, Draco, and what have we lost?'  
  
Someone touched her shoulder and Hermione shuddered. She raised her tear- stained face, praying it wasn't Harry.  
  
It was Blaise, last night's messenger. "Oh." He took in her soggy face. "D'you want me to go?"  
  
Hermione sniffed. "No." She looked hopefully around for a parchment.  
  
Blaise pulled something from his sleeve. A handkerchief. He offered it to Hermione, who blew her nose and generally cleaned herself up. "Thank you."  
  
He sat down. "Are you all right?" Hermione's eyes betrayed her. The tears flooded again. Blaise looked extremely distraught and then, to Hermione's great surprise, responded by hugging her, hard. "Draco won't mind," he whispered. "He used to do the same thing for me."  
  
Hermione regained some of her composure and Blaise let go. "Is there a letter?" she asked.  
  
He held a sheet of parchment out to her. "This was a miracle. Merlin brought it."  
  
"Draco's owl?" Hermione read the parchment with growing dread:  
  
My love, I was wrong. They are coming. So are we. Draco 


	12. December 11, Year Five

Sunday dawned grayer, if possible, than the previous morning. The drizzle continued ill-temperedly.  
  
Draco woke much later than he usually did and found a parchment on the foot of his bed. It read:  
  
Draco, Ron, in a fit of studiousness, has shut himself in the Library all morning. For some strange reason, he thinks Prof. Flitwick is giving a test tomorrow. Try not to make the confrontation too loud.  
  
Hermione  
  
Draco sneezed. He reached over to the bedside table for a quill and parchment and wrote Hermione a reply.  
  
My Dear Miss Granger, As I expect not to have any control over the volume of the confrontation, I have no intention of conducting it in the Library. I do, however, thank you for your gracious attempt to make the penance you have imposed upon me as painless as possible. I remain Yours, Draconis V L X N de Malfoy  
  
Draco read it over. The words had an oddly Snapish quality to them. He was blowing softly on the ink when Blaise stuck his head through the curtains. "Go back to sleep, Draco. You're sick."  
  
Draco sat up anyway. "Good morning to you, too. I have Quidditch practice."  
  
"No, you have a cold." Blaise thwarted Draco's attempt to get up by sitting on his feet.  
  
"I promise to stop by the Infirmary in my way out," Draco sighed.  
  
"Do you really want to steam at the ears all day? Pepper-Up is all Madam Pomfrey hands out."  
  
Draco debated this. "I'll get Professor Snape to give me some thing else."  
  
"Professor Snape left early this morning on an errand of undetermined origin. Nott is taking bets that the Gryffindors lured him off to get out of the Potions exam tomorrow."  
  
"Put me down for three Galleons that he's off on personal business or something for Dumbledore." Draco reached for his money bag and had a very Weasle-y revelation. "Blaise, will you let me out if I promise to call in sick to practice and spend the day studying quietly in the Library?" Draco assumed a hopeful, trusting expression his features were not used to.  
  
"I don't believe for a minute that's actually what you're going to do, but all right. Drink this." Blaise handed him a steaming mug.  
  
Draco sipped cautiously and grimaced. "How did you manage to concoct something this vile 'without' Professor Snape?"  
  
"Tincture of Echinacea purpurea, quite simple. Good for colds and all sorts of things."  
  
"Sugar probably makes it useless," Draco muttered, draining the mug. He sneezed again and looked accusingly at the other boy.  
  
"Doesn't work immediately," Blaise offered by way of explanation. He left to let Draco dress, which he did, moodily.  
  
Retrieving the shiniest Galleon he could find in his bag, Draco went to wash up. 


	13. December 11, Year Five

Ron Weasley sat in the Library, the last place one would expect to find to find him on a weekend morning. He was actually studying, which further compounded the miracle.  
  
He had been absolutely sure he hadn't heard Professor Flitwick say anything about a test on Friday, but then again, Ron hadn't really been listening. He had been watching Lavender Brown twirl her hair around her finger in a severely cute way.  
  
But Hermione had said there was going to be a test and if you couldn't trust Hermione to know these things, who could you trust?  
  
Ron left in search of a book he thought might be important, as it had been mentioned three times in the textbook. When he got back to his seat, he noticed something curious.  
  
On the floor near his table's leg, winking goldly up at him, lay a Galleon. Ron was sure he had not dropped it: on the few occasions that he actually had Galleons, he kept them locked tightly in his trunk in Gryffindor Tower and made sure they were safe at every possible occasion.  
  
Checking over his shoulder that there was no one in sight to have dropped it, Ron bent and picked it up. When his fingers touched the coin, He felt a tug behind his middle and darkness engulfed him. 


	14. December 11, Year Five

When Ron's mental fog cleared, he found himself in what seemed to be a deserted classroom. Dust-covered desks stacked the walls and Peeves hadn't gotten to the chalkboard recently.  
  
Perhaps not quite deserted. "Hallo, Weasel." Draco Malfoy stepped out of the shadows.  
  
Ron reached for his wand and then remembered that he had left it in his book bag. The one still in the Library. He then saw fit to mutter several things under his breath that would have shocked Hermione. Ickle Ronniekins had been paying attention to Bill last summer.  
  
Draco watched him go for something that wasn't there. "So we're even: I haven't mine, either. The lock, however, is keyed to my voice, so if you kill me, you'll be stuck here forever. Therefore, I suggest you listen to me and nod in the right places and we'll both get out of here quickly."  
  
"You Portkeyed me, you slimy git!" Ron found his tongue.  
  
"You're the second person to call me that in two days. I'm developing a complex. Of course, I Portkeyed you. Potter, I trust for an audience. You, I trust to hex my eyes out. But not now. Now, we have some very unpleasant business, you and I." Draco began to pace. "I'm about to lose my primary source of entertainment during the school year."  
  
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron tried to hide genuine puzzlement under an air of bravado.  
  
"You, to put it bluntly. I'm prepared to offer anything for your absolution. So what'll it be? A Quidditch position? Pile of gold in Gringotts? What price a Weasley?"  
  
Ron's right hook came out of nowhere. Although aimed at Draco's nose, it glanced off his cheekbone as he jerked reflexively. Ron squalled and started wringing his hand.  
  
"Nice, Weasel," Draco drawled. "You break any fingers?"  
  
It was not, Draco reflected, the wisest thing to say to a person six inches taller than you with a dragon-sized chip on his shoulder. A chip you put there.  
  
Ron's hand was apparently fine, as he actually connected with Draco's nose this time. Cartilage crunched as he fought self-defense reflexes that could have had Ron groaning on the floor in two minutes.  
  
Ron was not by nature a cruel person, but his acute sense of personal justice and ability to hold a grudge evidenced themselves that morning. He hadn't grown up with five older brothers without learning something about fisticuffs. And grudges.  
  
Draco allowed Ron to back him against the wall and empty his energy into him. Every third blow got through his defenses, but only because Draco let it.  
  
When Ron finally realized his 'opponent' was not fighting back, the fight became distasteful. He backed away. Draco stayed where he was, as the wall had taken over the task his legs had recently abandoned: keeping their owner vertical. Ron tried the door, fiddling with the knob when it wouldn't open. Draco watched him, painfully  
  
"What's the password, Malfoy?" Ron gave up trying to pick the lock.  
  
Draco's brain refused to produce a retort, so he said simply, "Alohomora." The door clicked open, and Ron hurried out.  
  
Draco slid to the floor. 'Blaise,' he thought abstractly, 'is going to kill me.'  
  
After about ten minutes of what Draco would have been loath to admit were self pity, he levered himself up and took stock of his injuries.  
  
The nose was definitely broken. Draco felt it gingerly. It had however, stopped bleeding and gone rather numb. His upper lip and left eye were swelling rapidly. Draco did not think any ribs were broken, but he was not certain. He ran through the list of people who could patch him up. It matched closely with the list of those he'd hate to see him like this.  
  
The door burst open in the middle of Draco's self-examination. Hermione stood there; the top of the second list. He braced himself for something along the lines of, 'Poor little man, he really worked you over, didn't he?'  
  
It did not come. Hermione looked him over, took a deep breath, drew her wand, and calmly cast, "'Asclepio'." A small moan slipped out of Draco as everything in his body popped back into its proper place at once. Hermione tucked her wand away. "I will speak to Ron. This was wrong of him."  
  
"As long as he thinks I got what I deserved, it doesn't really matter. That was what you wanted, wasn't it? Satisfaction for your friends."  
  
Hermione thought a moment. She honestly didn't know what she had wanted. That night seemed so long ago. Draco had scared her and put her on the spot by acting in a manner totally unlike the one he usually assumed. "Maybe it was. What did you want?"  
  
"Absolution." He met Hermione's eyes and sketched her a small, ironic bow before striding past her out the door. 


	15. December 11, Year Five

Hermione waited ten minutes, for Draco's pride, and then marched straight to the Library. She found Ron pouring convincingly over a book and planted her hands on the edge of the table opposite him. "Would you care to explain what you did to Draco Malfoy?"  
  
"Nothing he hasn't had coming since birth."  
  
"Nothing he didn't let you, you mean." Ron didn't look up. "How could you? Don't you have 'any' honor left?"  
  
Ron gaped at her. "Honor! That git lured me into a locked classroom and--"  
  
"To apologize to you, you idiot."  
  
"How did you know that?"  
  
"I listen at keyholes," she retorted.  
  
"Hermione." Draco's voice carried over her shoulder. "I can fight my own battles." 'And tell my own lies'  
  
She whirled. "Then why isn't he rolling on the floor bleeding on everything?"  
  
"Because," Draco took two steps forward and kissed her firmly on the mouth, "I enjoy pain."  
  
"Oh!" Hermione backhanded him reflexively. Draco's head snapped back and he rocked slightly on his feet.  
  
Draco stepped back, smiling slightly and covering the mark of her hand with his. "See."  
  
"Malfoy, you perverted--" Ron leapt up, knocking his chair over. But he stayed behind the table.  
  
"Shut up, Ron," Hermione snapped. Ron's ears went very red. He left. She addressed herself to Draco: "Why did you do that?"  
  
"I told you, I enjoy--"  
  
Hermione couldn't bear hearing him say it again. "I heard you. Now, why did you k-kiss me."  
  
Draco smirked defiantly. And sneezed. Loudly. Twice. Three-four times. When he undoubled, eyes streaming, Hermione offered him her clean handkerchief. Draco accepted, blew his nose. "Thank you."  
  
"Are you sick, Malfoy?" He half glared at her. "Comes of spending mornings on rainy Quidditch Pitches, I expect," Hermione offered sagely.  
  
"Possibly," Draco allowed.  
  
"Now why-"  
  
He held up a hand. "Right now, Neville Longbottom is reading an anonymous letter detailing a theoretical cure for his parents. Is the slate clean?"  
  
"I said verbally." 'And sincerely. A cure for the Cruciatus Curse?'  
  
Draco nodded, his mouth set in a hard line. "Thank you."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"The pain." His mouth softened slightly. "And the kiss."  
  
"The pleasure was all mine." Hermione suddenly remembered that they stood in the center of the Library. "Come and sit down."  
  
She led the way to a corner table, pulled out a chair, and dropped into it. "Sit." Draco sat, opposite her. "How do you feel? I mean, did the spell work?"  
  
"Very well, thank you." He was well aware that 'Asclepio' was a seventh- year healing spell widely used by fully-trained mediwizards.  
  
"I've only been practicing a few weeks. Don't tell Madam Pomfrey." Draco inclined his head. "Why did you kiss me?"  
  
"Forget it ever happened. A momentary lapse in judgment on my part shouldn't ruin the 'wonderful' friendship between us."  
  
"That 'momentary lapse in judgment' is going to be all over Hogwarts by tomorrow morning, dragging my name down with yours."  
  
"I am truly sorry." Draco laid his right hand on the table and slid it over in front of her. "It's yours for the asking. Say the word."  
  
"No." Hermione crossed her arms, flatly refusing.  
  
"I haven't many people left to apologize to." His hand stayed on the table, despite all of Draco's instincts.  
  
Hermione sighed. "I know."  
  
"I'm sure you can come up with something equally humiliating for me to perform." Draco lifted the hand and rested his chin on it, the picture of attentive interest.  
  
"But you 'enjoy' pain, so-"  
  
"No, Hermione." The feral quality of his voice caught her off guard. Draco seized her hand. "I don't enjoy pain. I 'love' it. Because the people I love most cause me the most pain. My father," he kissed it savagely, "with his infinite wealth and power has no room in his heart for the boy who spent years living for a single kind word from his lips. My mother," another kiss, "who loves her cats more than her son. My House Head," a third time, "who tolerates me only to curry favor with my father and Voldemort. And you," Draco raised his eyes to Hermione's startled ones and drew her hand to his lips a last time, infinitely tender, "who have never said a kind word to me in the four and a half years I have known 'you.' The shards of my heart are yours. Do with them what you will." He set her hand down gently, caressing it finally before dropping his arms to his sides.  
  
"Draco, I- can't fix your life. Or change the past. But I believe I could. . . love you."  
  
"Will you come to the Yule Ball with me, then?"  
  
Hermione covered her surprise. "I was wondering when you'd ask." 


	16. September 1, Year Six

He had gotten taller over the summer, Hermione thought, watching the only white-blond head in the crowd in front of her. Draco Malfoy was still as thin as ever, though, and his skin didn't look as if it had seen a day of summer sun. Hermione lost sight of him as he wheeled his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express, until she fought her way through the throng and boarded as well.  
  
She saw Harry disappear into one of the prefect's compartments and watched Ron trail after Lavender Brown. Draco kept walking until the last open compartment and disappeared inside. Hermione looked around, saw the corridor nearly empty, and ducked into the same compartment.  
  
Draco looked up as she dropped into the seat opposite him, a smile gracing his normally sneering features. "Hermione. Hello."  
  
"Hallo, Draco," she replied.  
  
Once the initial greetings had been exchanged, neither of them could think of anything to say. "How did your summer go?" Hermione began.  
  
"Very well, actually. Father was away on . . . business most of the time. Mother and I went to Paris. You?"  
  
"Paris! Nothing that exciting. Did a bit of reading," which meant all of their new textbooks and some extracurricular material, "wandered around Diagon Alley," when she ran out of books, to get new ones.  
  
Awkward silence, and then Draco said, very low, "I missed you."  
  
"I missed you, too." Hermione moved to sit beside him. "I would have written, but I thought your dad. . . ."  
  
"You were right."  
  
"What 'are' we going to do this year?"  
  
"I've been thinking about it, and I had it all worked out, until this came." He pulled a parchment from his pocket and passed it to Hermione. "Now I'm going to have to spend all year working with some Ravenclaw who memorizes textbooks." He scowled.  
  
It was a letter which began: 'Dear Mr. Malfoy, we are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as Hogwarts' Head Boy for the coming school year. . . .' Hermione laid the parchment down and said shakily, "What about a Gryffindor who memorizes textbooks?"  
  
She pulled a parchment from her own pocket and gave it to him. He scanned it quickly. And then again, in disbelief. "Head Girl. You got Head Girl."  
  
Hermione began to laugh like she hadn't in months. She threw her arms around Draco's neck. "We can do it," she whispered. "It's Hogwarts tradition: the Head Boy and Girl have to be a couple."  
  
"Not this time. My father's on the board of governors; he got reinstated, remember? I don't know how he let this happen." But he hugged her back.  
  
"Oh, we can at least be civil to each other. I couldn't stand another year of pretending to hate you."  
  
Draco captured her mouth with his, muttering, "I think we can be more than civil." 


	17. September 1, Year Six

That occupied them for several minutes, and then, with great difficulty, Draco pulled away and reached for something on the seat beside him. He presented the leather case to Hermione, whose eyes widened.  
  
"Ooh, Draco, my birthday isn't for another two weeks." Her fingers danced over the buckles.  
  
Draco covered quickly. "I wanted to see you open it."  
  
Open it Hermione did, and gasped at the contents. Rows of glass vials winked up at her, surrounded by labeled paper packets. Hermione read the top ones: Floo Powder, asphodel, and. . . Earl Grey.  
  
The phials proved less amusing. Exploding Extract, Cobra venom, and Non- Specific Polyjuice were only some of the contents. In addition, the case contained a ring of silver lock picks, a grayish folded cloth, and a wand that looked suspiciously like Hermione's own.  
  
She took the cloth out, uncovering a bottle-green glass fountain pen. It proved to be a tailored vest with pewter button. The nubbly texture of the fabric felt strange under Hermione's fingers. She looked up at Draco. "This isn't-"  
  
"Togu leather. From Paris. It wasn't nearly as hard to get as some of the other things. Most of the potions were Snape's leftovers, with Potency Charms added. The herbs are from the Apothecary. Most of them. The rest of the stuff, well, I'd appriciate it if you didn't show everyone at Hogwarts. The lock picks are from Knockturn. They'll open anything with a keyhole without leaving a magical signature. Of course, finding the keyhole's usually the problem" Draco realized he was babbling most uncharacteristically. "It's an Auror's Kit," he finished. "As close to Ministry issue as I could get it."  
  
Hermione picked out the wand and balanced it on two fingers. "No two wands are alike. How do you know this one will work for me?"  
  
"Mr. Olivander gave me a fifty-year guarantee on it. He also asked entirely too many questions." Not a virtue in Draco's book.  
  
"It really was lovely of you, Draco, but this can't be legal."  
  
Draco didn't seem troubled by this. "Legally gotten, no, but the Ministry issues everything--"  
  
"To fully certified Aurors!" Hermione interrupted him. "I realize you went to a great deal of trouble, but really, it's not right."  
  
Draco's mouth stopped its slow progression into a scowl. "Not right? You know as well as I do that Lord Voldemort has returned. Just because he kept quiet last year doesn't mean he's gone away. And maybe you don't know, but he's stronger than anyone at the Ministry, especially that idiot Fudge, suspects."  
  
"Draco--"  
  
He kept going. "D'you know what Father was away on business 'doing,' 'Mione? He was traveling all over Europe, pulling strings to get people out of Azkaban. Voldemort's people. And there you are at Hogwarts, Harry Potter's best friend and the love of my life, and it's not right for you to have a bit of something to protect yourself with?" Draco's voice had gotten quieter as he went on, until he was whispering ferociously at Hermione.  
  
"Calm down," she said shakily, when he had finished. "How do you know all this?"  
  
"Dinner conversation. In the past month we've entertained five Death Eaters, two vampires, one hag, and a werewolf, not to mention Hecate Zabini, who is at once the most beautiful and evil thing ever to walk the earth."  
  
"You need to tell Dumbledore."  
  
"I will."  
  
"Thank you. For everything. I will make good use of this." Hermione packed the case back up and buckled it. "We have to do something. I mean, we're Head Boy and Girl."  
  
"And in opposing Houses," Draco pointed out. "Since when did a Slytherin and Gryfindor get anything done together? Least of all us." He almost leered.  
  
"Draco Malfoy, if you think I'm going to spend all year sneaking off into closets and dark corners with you--"  
  
"'Mione, I don't want to love like that. I have morals, you know."  
  
"No!" She leaned back against his chest. "And here I thought you were an unscrupulous Slytherin, and a Malfoy to boot."  
  
He stroked her hair. "I don't want to be a Slytherin any more. Or a Malfoy."  
  
"Do you have a middle name?"  
  
"Several. Draconis Voldemort Lucien Xavier Narcissus de Malfoy, at your service."  
  
"What were your parents thinking?" Hermione seized the hand not entwined in her hair and began to rub it.  
  
"Oh, I imagine it was something along the lines of: 'Let's honor the Dark Lord and all of the family ancestors in a way that's French and embarrassing.'"  
  
Hermione ran through the list to find one that wasn't too familial or evil. "Draco Xavier."  
  
"Draco X. That suits. Now, back to the task at hand."  
  
Hermione sat up. "One of us could transfer. You said I'd make a wonderful Slytherin."  
  
"If you'll recall the circumstances under which I said it, and what you'd just said to me, you won't want to transfer to Slytherin. The girls are even worse than the boys," he added.  
  
"Are you saying I couldn't do it?" Hermione challenged.  
  
"No, I'm saying I don't want you to do it." Draco watched the play of conflicting emotions across her face.  
  
"Well, I suppose I wouldn't want you in a dorm with Harry and Ron. They're terribly untidy."  
  
"Agreed. So we both switch to a different House."  
  
"But the Sorting Hat. How can you be sure it'll put us both in--"  
  
"Ravenclaw," they both said together, remembering that first real conversation, back last December.  
  
"If it was there then, it's there now. Maybe more." It was all Hermione was willing to say. "But how do we convince Dumbledore?"  
  
"Think like a Slytherin, 'Mione! What's the final authority on who goes in which House?"  
  
"The Sorting Hat. . . ."  
  
They began to scheme. 


	18. September 1, Year Six

"Galbraith, Wendy." Professor McGonagall's voice rang out across the Great Hall. Hermione tensed in her seat and began to shiver. Her House Head looked up from the list as a pretty blonde girl tried the Sorting Hat on. While everyone watched Wendy, Hermione drew her wand and discretely pointed it at the scroll of first years. "'Admetus.'"  
  
After Wendy went to Slytherin, McGonagall called the next name without thinking about it very much: "Granger, Hermione." The whispers spread like bluebell fire as Hermione rose, carefully not looking at the Slytherin table. She jammed the hat on head, opening her reasons to it.  
  
Draco had been trying to catch Hermione's eye ever since he noticed some of the school governors seated at the staff table. Hermione, however, was completely focused on the Sorting, as they had agreed she should. Draco watched as her name was called. The Sorting Hat didn't dawdle.  
  
'Hmm. Excellent memory. Infinite capacity for trust and thoughtful actions. We've been through this before, haven't we?'  
  
'Yes, but I got it wrong that time.'  
  
'You got it wrong? You never get anything wrong.'  
  
'Oh yes, I got it quite wrong. Now I'm going to get it right. In Ravenclaw.'  
  
"RAVENCLAW it is, then."  
  
Hermione took the hat off and, not looking at anyone, walked to the Ravenclaw table. Most of the House thought she should have been there since Year One.  
  
The next five letters passed without incident, and then McGonagall hit the M's. Draco watched his father in deep discussion with Professor Snape. He hardly noticed when Madison, Irene joined him, as his eyes were rooted on McGonagall, Minerva.  
  
Hermione whispered Draco's name onto the list just before Mahoney, Gene became a Hufflepuff. Professor McGonagall adjusted her spectacles, coughed, and called irritably, "Malfoy, Draconis." She did not like surprises.  
  
Draco did not see his father leap up like he'd been burnt, or Professor Snape stop mid-sentence, because he was already on the stool with the Hat jammed over his ears thinking 'Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw.'  
  
The hat protested. 'How rude.'  
  
'Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw.'  
  
'Oh all right' "RAVENCLAW"  
  
Draco doffed the Hat in time to get a panoramic view of the outrage written across his father's aristocratic features. Lucius looked from his son to Ravenclaw's other transfer and back hawkishly. He had been a Slytherin and knew a plot when he saw one.  
  
Hermione scooted over to allow Draco onto the end of the bench. They clasped hands under the table as she followed his gaze to where Professor Snape had got Lucius seated again.  
  
"My father is here," Draco finally got out.  
  
"I know."  
  
"He's going to kill you, and then enroll me in Azkaban."  
  
"There's nothing he can do here," She tried to be comforting, for his sake. "The Sorting Hat put us in Ravenclaw  
  
"Hang the Sorting Hat, this is my father, 'Mione!" Hermione shut up and concentrated on warming his icy left hand.  
  
When McGonagall finally carried the Hat away, Professor Dumbledore rose to make his customary beginning of term remarks. After announcing that the Forbidden Forest was 'still' off limits, he introduced the new DADA master, whom everyone already knew, as Professor Snape had finally gotten his dearest wish and was as close to beaming as anyone had ever seen him. The new Potions teacher was a slim red-haired woman who looked so like Harry's mother that he hadn't taken his eyes off her all evening. "And may I conclude by presenting this year's Head Girl and Boy, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy," they stood, " both of whom have seen fit to make a change in House this evening." Dumbledore looked down his long, crooked nose at them. "I should like to see both of you in my office after the feast." He clapped his hands and food appeared on all of the tables.  
  
Hermione took a bit of everything and began to rearrange it, while Draco stared down at his empty plate. "Eat something," she said, but didn't.  
  
A bright-eyed boy with messy brown hair passed Hermione the chipolatas and introduced himself. "I'm Terry Boot, and you're Hermione Granger." She nodded, smiling in spite of everything. "Have you picked a language yet?"  
  
"I bought all the books, but Parseltongue sounds by far the most interesting. Of course, one year only lets you study the very basics."  
  
"I don't know, House-Elvish would be very useful, if you've got them."  
  
Hermione shrugged. "What about you, Draco?"  
  
"Pixie," he spat, "it's the only one I don't already know."  
  
"You're kidding." A bit of potato fell out of Terry's open mouth. "Parseltongue takes years to learn."  
  
"I know. Started when I was seven."  
  
Terry muttered. "Must be a Slytherin thing."  
  
Draco hissed something at him and then translated. "Just a Malfoy thing."  
  
Terry rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, mate." No one had every called Draco Malfoy 'mate' before. 


	19. September 1, Year Six

"Just keep guessing food. Harry said the stranger, the better." They stood beside the gargoyle that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Candy, usually."  
  
Draco stared at her. "Candy. Lord Voldemort fears someone who uses 'candy' for his office password?"  
  
Hermione ignored his sarcasm. She had gotten very good at it. "Ice Mice. Pepper Imps. Sherbet lemons. Chocoballs. Sugar Quills." That did it, and they rode the staircase up to where Dumbledore's door creaked open for them. It revealed Albus Dumbledore seated at his desk. "We're here, Professor," Hermione said. Draco bowed, earning him a strange look from Hermione and a small smile from the Headmaster.  
  
"Come in, both of you, and sit down" He waved his hand and two armchairs positioned themselves in front of the desk. Hermione sat. Draco stood, out of habit. Dumbledore continued, "That was very clever of you. Why did you do it?"  
  
"We didn't feel we could continue our friendship in opposing Houses," Hermione offered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco's brow crease, but he said nothing.  
  
"It is a bit more than a friendship, isn't it?" the Headmaster asked gently.  
  
Draco's turn. "Yes, sir, it is." He could not have lied if he'd wanted to; although Draco had never met anyone less like his father, you told no falsehoods to the man behind the desk.  
  
Dumbledore didn't pursue the matter. "The Sorting list can only be amended magically. Minerva didn't think any student could do it, which is why she went through with it. I think you will find," he looked down his long, crooked nose at them, "that you have created more problems than you have solved. Mr. Malfoy, your father will be here any moment. Professor Snape is stalling him." Hermione resisted the urge to giggle.  
  
"Headmaster, if the Sorting Hat put me in Ravenclaw, not even the governors can remove me." Draco substituted bravado for certainty, for Hermione's sake.  
  
"Your father wants you transferred, Draco."  
  
An uncomprehending Hermione watched Draco's face slowly turn translucent. But when he spoke, it was with a calm acceptance that marked the way he took pain and change. "Excuse us a moment, Headmaster." He pulled Hermione out the door, closed it, and set his back against it. "'Mione, listen to me. We haven't much time. My father is a powerful, dangerous man, and his anger is now directed at you. Promise me, beloved, that you won't eat or drink anything not served to a group or open any mail not magically scanned." Hermione nodded, caught up in his urgency. "Go back to Gryffindor. You'll need your friends. Stay away from the Slytherins. 'All' of the Slytherins." Draco ran a finger along the line of her cheek and pulled her close to him, and they embraced like two drowning people.  
  
"I love you," she whispered into his hair, trying to calm the nervous energy his body radiated. "Draco-"  
  
"Draco!" They broke the embrace to see Lucius Malfoy storming up the stairway toward them.  
Please go read 'Perfect', I just posted it. Percy angst, what's not to love? Please!  
  
G. R. 


	20. Reader Poll

Reader Poll  
  
Please answer in a review; I need everyone's input. Your idea WILL be used.  
  
Where could the final battle take place?  
  
Who should die in the final battle?  
  
Who would you like to see show up at the final battle?  
  
Would you mind if Ron died?  
  
Would you mind if Blaise died?  
  
Give me one Eastern European-esque name.  
  
Invent a nasty spell, and tell me what it does.  
  
Do the words 'George' and 'drunk' in the same sentence bother you?  
  
Does Harry have to kill Voldemort?  
  
What happens to Lucius?  
  
How would you like it to end?  
  
Thanks loads, G. R. 


	21. February 18, Year Seven

Hermione passed the brief message over to Blaise, whose eyes bounded briefly over it. "What do we do?"  
  
"Why are you asking me?" Hermione was wondering the same thing herself.  
  
"You're Hermione Granger. If you don't know. . . ." Blaise shrugged.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"The cleverest witch in our year. Last year's Head Girl. Bane of Lucius Malfoy. Even the Sly-the people who 'don't' like you call you 'The Mudblood Who Won't Quit.'"  
  
"What did they call me before?" Hermione wanted to know.  
  
"'Potter's chit.'" Blaise blushed.  
  
Hermione giggled nervously. "Not 'Draco's chit'?"  
  
"Not in Slytherin House. We know Draco Malfoy. Or thought we did. He changed, Hermione. Inside, if not outwardly. You didn't see him before, not really."  
  
"No, I suppose I didn't. But now I think I do, a little. Unfortunately, he's not here, is he?" Hermione stood and grabbed her book bag. "Good night, Blaise." She received an answering 'Good night' and a sad smile, and Blaise got out of her way.  
  
Trudging up to the sixth floor, Hermione noticed a slit of light under only one of the office doors. The hastily magicked plaque read 'G. Weasley, Charms'. Hermione knocked. Silence. She knocked again, louder, and then pushed the door open, George owed her, after all, for five years of pranks before she learned to prank back.  
  
'G. Weasley' sat at his desk, feet up on the corner. He was holding a half- empty bottle up to the light, studying it. The label read: Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.  
  
"George!" Hermione closed the door behind her, shocked.  
  
"Hermione," he enunciated, "you shouldn't be here."  
  
"Neither should you. George Weasley, what would your mother say?" Pictures of an angry Mrs. Weasley ran through both their heads.  
  
"I don't know, we haven't spoken in a year." He sighed. "'Mione, go to bed, you have classes tomorrow."  
  
"'You' have classes tomorrow. And I could teach every one of them right now and do a better job than you could."  
  
"I'm sure you could," George placated.  
  
Hermione wasn't finished. "Because you know what you did during Charms? You planned pranks, you and Fred and Lee bloody Jordan." She didn't want to think about what had happened to Fred or Lee. "While I took notes and worried about tests that never came."  
  
"But Fred and Lee aren't here now, are they, 'Mione?"  
  
"No, they're not. But you are, and do you think they'd want you to sit around drinking yourself into a stupor? You have classes tomorrow!" Hermione nearly shouted.  
  
George leaned his chair back against the wall. "Why don't you teach them, if you're so good at it?"  
  
Hermione, nearly in tears again, glared at him. "Because it's 'your job'."  
  
"And what's your job, 'Mione?" George discovered that someone had transfigured his bottle into a Charms textbook.  
  
Hermione tucked her wand away. "Making sure Professor Dumbledore knows the school will be invaded by Death Eaters from Durmstrang fairly soon." And on that cheery note, Hermione walked out, leaving George stunned.  
  
But he didn't transfigure the book back. 


	22. September 1, Year Six

They broke the embrace, but Draco moved his hand to the small of Hermione's back, a reassuring, if icy, presence. "Good evening, Father." He kept his tone even, but the hand began to shake.  
  
"What is the meaning of this?" Lucius' fish-gray eyes flicked between them, raking Hermione.  
  
Draco avoided the issue. "Professor Dumbledore asked to see us."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy-" Hermione began.  
  
"Quiet, Mudblood," he snapped. Draco went rigid against her. Lucius turned back to his son. "Exactly what were you trying to prove with that display downstairs?"  
  
"That we were wrongly Sorted." Hermione hated to be ignored.  
  
The wolf's stare returned to her. "What are you doing with my son?"  
  
"I don't think that's any of your business," she retorted.  
  
"Hermione, don't-" Draco wanted to stand in front of her, protect her from everything that was his father, but he found that Lucius had pasted his feet to the floor with nothing but a glance.  
  
"Oh yes, it is, you little chit, because you won't be doing it anymore."  
  
"Father-" Draco tried again.  
  
"You," Lucius' eyes never stopped boring into Hermione as he addressed his heir, "will return to your dormitory and pack your trunk. Now." Draco started woodenly down the stairs. "And you, girl, will stay away from my son, or I will make sure that you never ensnare another as long as you live." He leaned very close to her, and Hermione was sure the same person had taught Professor Snape to talk.  
  
"That's uncalled for, Lucius." Professor Dumbledore's voice came, a welcome interruption, for Hermione, at least.  
  
Neither of them had heard the door open. "Headmaster." A practiced change, voice and faceswitching from threat to silk in the flick of a wand.  
  
"Lucius, I believe your business is with me, not Miss Granger." A command with schoolboy undertones of, 'Leave her alone, you slimy git.'  
  
Mr. Malfoy insinuated himself into the office, leaving Hermione alone on the landing, too stunned to move. 


	23. February 18, Year Seven

The Gryffindor common room was nearly empty. Only a scattering of first- and second-years sat frantically doing homework. To calm herself down, Hermione went over and asked if she could help any of them. Only one accepted, a chubby, nervous boy who reminded Hermione painfully of Neville, so she spent ten minutes explaining why Wendelin was Weird and the reason Uric was an Oddball.  
  
Then she marched up to the Seventh-Year boy's dorm and knocked. Ron opened the door in a pair of blue plaid pajamas that were too short, making him look about ten. "What do you want? Nobody," he yelled back over his shoulder.  
  
"Ron, get out of the way. I need to talk to Harry," Hermione said firmly, realizing that Ron was not going to be reasonable about this.  
  
"Yeah, well, Harry doesn't need to talk to you." He tried to shut the door, but Hermione stuck a dragonhide-clad foot in the way. She pushed past Ron, calling calmly, "Harry, can I borrow Hedwig?"  
  
"Yeah, sure." As Harry let Hedwig out, Hermione crossed to the owl's cage and stroked her feathers. Harry grinned, an expression no one had seen on his face for quite some time. As he transferred Hedwig from his arm to Hermione's, she contrived to drop a small wad of parchment on the cage floor while accepting the owl.  
  
Hermione pecked Harry on the cheek by way of thanks, causing Ron to mutter dangerously, and then strode out of the room, calling goodnights to all four boys.  
  
Once in her bedroom, Hermione grabbed parchment, quill, and ink bottle from her desk and spread them around her on the bed. Hedwig sat patiently on the windowsill, munching the last of a box of Every-Flavor Beans.  
  
Hermione made a list of everyone who needed a letter. It was surprisingly short. She got to work, and soon a pile of sealed missals sat beside her. She finished off with one to Draco, which she wouldn't send. Hermione planned to give it to him when he arrived, provided they both survived the encounter. For now, the letter joined the others under her mattress. They had been written over the last sixteen months, simply to assure Hermione of her grasp on sanity. She sincerely hoped Draco never saw some of them.  
  
Tying up the postable parchments, she held them out to Hedwig, who grasped them in both claws with a longsuffering hoot and flapped out the window into the February night. Hermione watched her go, wondering if the owl knew that it carried the hopes of the wizarding world in its claws. 


	24. September 1, Year Six

Draco strode through the students in the common room, not-noticing them with the same purpose they ignored him. Slytherin had no room for traitors. He blew into his dormitory like winter rain and began moving clothes from the wardrobe in to his trunk.  
  
"I didn't think you were coming back." Draco avoided looking at Blaise, perched on his bed, and continued packing. "Did she talk you into it?"  
  
Draco laughed shortly, without humor. "No. She wanted to transfer to Slytherin."  
  
"You're joking."  
  
"No, that's Hermione." Sometimes Draco wished it weren't.  
  
"They'd eat her alive." Blaise thought of Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode next to slender, bookish Hermione and shuddered.  
  
"I know." Silence. Snapshots from Hogwarts spooled through Draco's head. The very first Potions class, when Hermione had known all the answers. Calling her Mudblood and being jumped by half Gryffindor House. The look of disgust on her face when he told the trio to get her out of the woods the night of the World Cup. The two of them, meant to be cleaning the dungeons, hashing out the confines of their 'relationship.' The last dance at the Yule Ball. And Hermione, standing up to his father because Draco hadn't the spine. "Watch her for me, will you, Blaise? Be there because I can't?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'because you can't'? You're both Ravenclaws now. You've got all the speccy little gits on your side."  
  
"They're not all speccy little gits. 'Mandy Brocklehurst' isn't a speccy little git, is she, Blaise?" Draco asked savagely. Blaise went pink, mumbled something, and bent his head. Draco had known about the pile of letters under Blaise's pillow for some time, but hadn't deigned to mention them before. He continued, "You don't have to disapprove of Hermione and me anymore: she's going back to Gryffindor, and I'm off to Durmstrang." Draco kept his voice false and light and very cold as he banished the last of his things to his trunk and sat on his bed opposite Blaise. "Buck up, Lucius will be here soon. Wouldn't want him carrying tales to your mum."  
  
At that, Blaise sat up, his eyes red. "I never disapproved of you two." His words sounded raw. "I carried notes, and I'd do it again."  
  
"Yeah, it was all very sweet. But now you're free to arrange your own trysts." Draco couldn't honestly imagine Blaise snogging anyone, but there you had it.  
  
"Mandy and I," Blaise took a deep breath, "are friends. Just friends. Like we were, Draco."  
  
"Be a Slytherin." Draco lifted his chin. "We don't need friends." Especially out-of-House friends.  
  
"I needed you," Blaise whispered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I needed you," he repeated, almost shouting. "Three years. You were the only one who saw past the nightmares."  
  
"I've heard," Draco said in a conversational tone, "that girls don't like boys who scream in the night and wake them up." Blaise lunged at him, and Draco ducked. "Good. Now you're mad; you won't miss me. Give Sebastian my regards, and tell Pucey good luck finding another Seeker."  
  
Blaise seemed to have forgotten all of Draco's self defense lessons and was merely flailing at him. "You idiot, Draco Malfoy. You sodding blond idiot. I've missed you all summer, and you think-" Draco left.  
  
He marched out of the Slytherin common room, out of the dungeons, and out Hogwarts' front gate. His high head and carefully blank expression covered unspeakable pain. Draco's trunk floated along behind him, and he banished it to the top of the black coach and four before stepping in himself.  
  
Some people, when they have taken too much and have been driven beyond the point of endurance, simply crumple and give up. There are others, though they are not many, who will for some reason always be unconquerable. You meet them in time of war, and also in time of peace. They have an indomitable spirit and nothing, neither pain nor torture nor threat of death, will cause them to give up. Hermione Granger was one of these.  
  
She climbed out onto the sloping, conical roof of Gryffindor tower, planting her feet on the pinnacle. Not caring if she fell but knowing she wouldn't, Hermione sent phoenix red and gold fire up from her wand into the September dusk. And then twining with them, green and silver sparks, so that Slytherin and Gryffindor colors spiraled over Hogwarts. The symbolism was not lost on anyone who saw the display, least of all Lucius Malfoy and his son.  
End Year Six 


	25. February 18, Year Seven

About half an hour after Hedwig departed, the bedroom door opened and shut, seemingly by itself. Hermione knew better. She sat up and shoved her homework to one side.  
  
The Invisibility Cloak puddled around Harry's feet as he undid the clasp. "What's up?"  
  
Hermione smiled. "You came. I wasn't sure." She lifted her chin, motioning him over to sit beside her on the bed.  
  
"Of course I came." Harry looked indignant. "You cheated, signing 'Love from Hermione.' You haven't done that in years."  
  
Hermione ducked her head. "If Ron finds it, he might think I've come to my senses."  
  
"Sod Ron. He needs to sort out his priorities. Come to his own senses a bit." But he looked oddly wistful.  
  
Hermione, who had been able to read that open face since both of them were twelve, covered Harry's hand with her own. "I do love you, Harry. I always have, really. It's just-" she paused struggling for the words.  
  
"Draco," Harry mumbled. "'S just him."  
  
"No. What I feel for Draco is different. He's not going to save the wizarding world for us all. But he might help you a great deal."  
  
"From Durmstrang?" Harry's voice was tired, but skeptical.  
  
"Harry," Hermione said gently, not sure how to begin, "he's not going to be at Durmstrang much longer." She pulled the note from her pocket, unfolding it so that Harry could read the few lines.  
  
He scanned them in silence. "'We are coming.' Who's we?"  
  
"I don't know, really. In the letter before this one it appeared that there were some at Durmstrang, most likely students, shall we say, less than sympathetic toward Voldemort's cause."  
  
"That's Draco, 'Mione. That was straight up Malfoy; I can hear him in your voice." Hermione couldn't tell from Harry's tone if that was good or bad.  
  
"Well-" She swallowed painfully. "The bit that's in me happens to be all I have left of him. And Draco's changed, Harry."  
  
"I know. But so have you." Harry ran a hand through his hair, making the already tousled black mop look like it'd been dragged through a gorse bush.  
  
"And you haven't?"  
  
"Yes. No. 'Mione!"  
  
"Can you or can you not work with Draco Malfoy, Harry?"  
  
"Yes. But I don't have to like it."  
  
"Ooh, you're just as bad as Ron. Can't you see that if we allow our prejudices to divide us, we're helping Voldemort? Remember what Dumbledore said fourth year?"  
  
"I remember, 'Mione, and I am not prejudiced against Draco Malfoy. My feelings for him spring from the dozens of threats, insults, and hexes he's thrown my way since I met him." Harry wilted slightly under Hermione's glare. "But if he comes back, and he's inclined to direct the hexes at Voldemort, then yeah, I'll work with him."  
  
Hermione grinned, supposing that was the best she was going to get. "All right. Now go to bed." She stood up with him, and pecked him on the cheek before he turned to go. 


	26. February 19, Year Seven

Hedwig returned the next evening at about seven o'clock. She found Hermione much as she had left her: on the bed surrounded by paper. The reply the owl brought was to the letter Hermione had not sent.  
  
The parchment was addressed boldly: Miss Hermione L. Granger. She knew immediatly that it was from Draco; the slicing hand and use of her hated middle initial gave it away.  
  
Hermione broke the seal. Two sets of eight lines stared up at her. A poem?  
  
In western lands beneath the sun  
  
the flowers may rise in Spring,  
  
the trees may bud, the waters run,  
  
the merry finches sing.  
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night  
  
and swaying beeches bear  
  
the Elven-stars as jewels white  
  
amid their branching hair.  
  
Though here at journey's end I lie  
  
in darkness buried deep,  
beyond all towers strong and high,  
  
beyond all mountains steep,  
  
above all shadows rides the Sun  
  
and Stars for ever dwell:  
  
I will not say the Day is done,  
  
nor bid the Stars farewell. 


	27. February 19, Year Seven

Hermione looked it over again. It didn't read like Draco's poetry. He had said, quite truthfully, on two occasions that he had no skill with meter.  
  
'Elven'. Hermione raced her brain to the reference. She remembered back to a Council meeting that had gone completely astray because Ben and Terry had been arguing about the spelling of the above word. She couldn't remember why.  
  
Terry's point had been that no one except J. R. R. Tolkien used the 'v' and that the proper spelling was 'elfin'. Ben argued that 'because' Tolkien retained the 'v', everyone else should, too. Hermione neither remembered nor cared who had won. One fact burned brightly in her mind: only Tolkien spelt it 'Elven'.  
  
She had to find Ben. Cutting through the kitchens to Hufflepuff Tower seemed the fastest way. It was not really a tower at all, really, more of a turret and the rooms below it.  
  
Before the portrait of a large something in white could ask for the password, Hermione pressed her wand to its frame. "Hogwarts Forever," she whispered. It had been George's idea: a universal password to get the 'Council Members' into any House's inner sanctum. The vote had been unanimous, but Hermione had added the wand recognition as an extra precaution when she, Ben, Terry, and Claris set the spells. This had most certainly not been approved by any teacher, unless you counted George, which nobody did.  
  
The portrait swung open, and Hermione ducked in. She scanned the Hufflepuffs lounging around the common room and found Ben in a corner, playing two games of chess at once and losing both of them. Hermione went over and tapped him on the shoulder. "I need to speak to you."  
  
Ben jumped. "Merlin, 'Mione, don't do that to me! You aren't supposed to be here except on emergen-" She thrust the letter into his hand.  
  
"This 'is' an emergency." Ben perused the letter. "It's from 'The Lord of the Rings', right?"  
  
"Yeah, Sam sings it in Cirith Ungol to see where the orcs have taken Frodo."  
  
"Is it a riddle?"  
  
"No, Sam is basically trying to cheer himself up, and the orcs hear him and the orcs hear him and think he's Frodo, and-"  
  
Hermione remembered exactly why she had given up fiction at age nine. "Ben, I need answers that make sense. Quickly."  
  
Ben looked at her, brown eyes dancing. "Someone is trying to give you directions with a poem from the Return of the King?"  
  
"No, Ben." Hermione no longer tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. "Draco Malfoy is trying to give me directions with a poem from The Return of the King. Now are you going to help me or not?"  
  
"Yeah. Come on." Ben stood up, his face unreadable. Hermione followed him out of the common room and down to the entrance hall.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
Ben turned on her, his normally gentle expression annoyed. "He's coming from Durmstrang, right? 'In western lands.' That means he's Apparating. How many places can you Apparate to around Hogwarts? That are 'beyond' or 'above' the Anti-Apparation barrier."  
  
"Beyond or- half a sec. 'Above' the barrier?"  
  
Ben, walking backwards, ran a hand through his fine, gold-brown hair. "Yeah, above. Who checked the barrier the other day? There are a couple of towers it doesn't quite stretch to. I patched it up as well as possible, but it just wouldn't cover-"  
  
"The Astronomy Tower," Susan Bones said, pulling off her Invisibility Cloak. 


	28. February 19, Year Seven

Ben and Hermione whirled, wands out. Susan held up both hands. "Calm down, you two, I'm here to help."  
  
Hermione found her voice first. "How did you-?"  
  
Susan coughed. "I was in the kitchen, ah, provisioning, when you came through, miss witch on a mission."  
  
"And you followed her?" Ben asked.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Why? And where did you get the cloak?" Hermione knew of only one Invisibility Cloak in Hogwarts, and she did not think it likely that Harry would lend it to Susan, no matter how much he loved her.  
  
"Because you don't skulk about, Hermione, so I knew something must be up. And what do you think Mum hid me in? Come on." Susan and Ben took the lead as he filled her in on where they were headed and why, relegating Hermione to rear guard, a position she was not accustomed to.  
  
She ran between them. "Wait a minute. Are you 'sure' it's the Astronomy Tower he meant?"  
  
Ben stuck the parchment in front of her nose. Susan leaned over to look. "'Elven-stars', see? And 'beyond all towers'. 'Stars forever dwell'. Honestly, 'Mione, what I want to know is how Draco Malfoy got his hands on a copy of 'The Lord of the Rings'. Hmm?"  
  
"Oh. He came for a visit, Christmas of our fifth year, and I took him to a Muggle bookshop, among other places. I think he bought it there, because he thought he could smuggle it home. I've never read it, but it does look quite like a tome of Dark Magic, you know."  
  
"Yeah." Ben nodded, grinning, "it does."  
  
The straight stairways began to twist, spiraling upwards, and Hermione was remembering another winter night's trip to the Astronomy Tower with a baby dragon named Norbert when the stairs stopped, and the stone fanned out into the wide platform that marked the very tip of Hogwarts.  
  
Hermione and Susan gasped together. Ben swore under his breath at the scene that lay before them. The stone floor was packed with people wearing furs and wary expressions. Several were prone, in various states of health and consciousness, with others bending over them. One of these, bent over in front of the stairwell, looked up as the three came up the stairs.  
  
An old bruise highlighted the sharp line of his left cheekbone, sulfurous yellow against skin that was much paler than Hermione remembered. His hair and fur robes disheveled, making her wonder how he had gotten his little band away from Durmstrang. But the eyes were the same, and now they caught hers with an expression somewhere between fear and hope in their silver depths. Hermione lunged at him, and Draco Malfoy caught her, moving with a controlled grace and the speed of a striking snake. A serpent's strength was his, as well, and he crushed her to him. Hermione buried her face in his robes and let their fur catch her tears before she pulled away, eyes shining, to look at him.  
  
He refused to let go of her, and the strange look had not left his eyes. "Draco, what's wrong? It's me."  
  
His eyes were bright with tears that pride would not let him shed. "You came to me so many times," he whispered. "So many times, but I could never hold you to make you stay, and I would never stay long enough for me to kiss you. I- may I kiss you?"  
  
"As if you have to ask." Draco wiped the tears of her face with his thumbs, twining long fingers in her curls, and drew her mouth gently to his own. The world stopped, and neither of them drew back until their heads were pounding with lack of oxygen.  
  
Draco looked past Hermione, and she looked past him, both of them straightening. Hermione had seen Ben and Susan, wands out, seeing to some of the injured guests.  
  
Draco had seen the toe of a ragged sneaker, with no heel or leg in sight. He lunged forward, grabbing by instinct. His hand caught something, very there and very invisible. "Potter," he growled, and pulled the Invisibility Cloak off his captive.  
  
Or captives. It 'was' Harry Potter. It was also Ron Weasley, whose two meter frame had not quite been covered by Harry's cloak. 


End file.
